The Grey Wolves
by Fergus Mason
Summary: As night falls in the Atlantic a U-Boat hunts a convoy. A young frigate captain waits for a torpedo from the darkness. A Wren officer dreads a sinking report.
1. Chapter 1

"Signal from Clyde Approaches, Sir," the Yeoman of Signals said, handing over the slip of paper. The Old Man took it and nodded. "Thanks, Flags." He rubbed his eyes with a mittened hand and squinted at the message. Cheap grey wartime ink on cheap grey wartime paper, sent to a cheap grey wartime ship under a cheap grey wartime sky. He read it and glanced up. "Thanks for the heads up, Flags. Now roust Marwell out of his bunk and tell him I said he's to relieve you, then get your head down. I'll be needing you in about, oh, four hours. Dismissed."

"Aye aye, Sir," snapped the Yeoman and turned away.

The Old Man looked back to the signal.

"FOR HX204 CONTACT REPORT SENT 1654 APX 03 AT 272 FROM YOUR 1630 LOCSTAT ADVISE NOW 3 UBOAT YOUR GRID CLYDESPR SENDS NW"

Translated from Navalese into English, it meant that a U-Boat had sent a contact report - a confirmation that it had sighted the convoy - at 4:54pm, barely a quarter of an hour ago. A glance at the chart told the Old Man that the U-Boat was now about nine miles behind them; since they'd sent their 4:30pm location state Convoy HX-204 had covered over six nautical miles towards Liverpool, and the U-Boat was about three miles west of that position. The rest of the message stated that there were now three known enemy submarines in the 100x100 mile square the convoy was sailing through; that the report came from the HQ Clyde Approaches Submarine Plotting Room; and that someone watched over him.

As he'd predicted, the escort commander's Aldis lamp blinked out less than three minutes after the signal came in. The young signal rating diligently took down the machinegun-speed Morse, then frowned and sucked his pen as he began to interpret the dots and dashes. The coxswain shook his head and walked over to the Old Man. "Signal, Sir. _Viperous_ to _Leven_, investigate probable U-Boat as per Clyde SPR's last. Rejoin convoy no later than 48 hours from now."

"Thanks, Cox," the Old Man said, "Now get below and get your head down. If there's really a hearse back there I'll be needing you around two bells in the first watch."

The coxswain nodded. "Aye aye, Sir." He glanced quickly round the bridge, making sure no ratings were within close earshot, then leaned forward slightly. "You've time to grab forty winks yourself, Sir. I can wake Jimmy the One…"

The Old Man smiled. "Thanks, Cox, but I'll be fine. I'll stretch out on my sea bunk if I get the chance, but my first Jimmy would have had my balls if I'd gone below while my crew got ready to fight; you know that. Some cocoa would be welcome if you can have it sent up to us on your way to bed though. Maybe some nutty bars too, or even a sandwich?"

"Aye aye Sir," and the coxswain headed for the bridge ladder. As he began to descend he paused for a moment, and contemplated the Old Man's "sea bunk." A decrepit mattress, stained with cocoa and urine, lashed to the deck beside the ASDIC hut and covered by a salt-crusted blanket. The whole way across the Black Gap - the deadly stretch of the mid-Atlantic where the Liberator patrol bombers couldn't cover them - the Old Man never saw his cabin, save the few minutes every day or two when he went below for a quick crap. The coxswain would have cursed the Old Man's first Jimmy the One - his First Lieutenant - for a slave driver, except that he knew HMS _Leven_ was the Old Man's first command. He'd never had a Jimmy before…

The Old Man settled back against the bridge rail. He'd given the helm commands, and HMS _Leven_ was swinging back west, making turns for half ahead. He'd stood down every man he could from her weapons crews; only the twin Oerlikon 20mm AA guns either side of the funnel were manned. The Commissioned Engineer and Senior ASDIC Operator had been ordered to their bunks, and their deputies roused out to replace them. _Leven_'s best men would be as well rested as he could manage when - if - they were needed.

The convoy slid away down _Leven_'s starboard side. The Old Man counted off each ship. Thirty-eight of them, every one of the freighters and tankers they'd picked up off Sandy Hook, New York. HX-204 hadn't lost a single ship yet, and he was damned if it would on his watch.

They passed _Compass Rose_. Ericson was on the bridge - as always - with Lockhart beside him. It was desperately unfair, the Old Man thought; he was 24 years old and commanded a brand-new frigate, while Ericson was in his forties and stuck with that battered little corvette. Not that Ericson seemed to mind; he was proud of his ship, and with all she'd achieved so he should be. He saw Lockhart raise his binoculars and scrutinise the frigate, and hoped no badly stowed gear reflected badly on his crew.

"How does he look, Number one?" Ericson asked.

Lockhart lowered his glasses. "Honestly, Sir? Shagged out, as usual. I'm amazed he's still on his feet." He turned to Ericson. "It's like he has his own personal Bennett on his back. Amazing he's made it this long, really."

Ericson laughed. "Well, Number One, you had your own personal Bennett for a while, remember? You survived, and I'm sure he will too." He propped his elbows on the rail and watched the sleek frigate on her way. "He's just like his father, you know. Rather, he will be. He has the ability. He just doesn't quite have Ted's self-confidence yet."

"You know his father, Sir?" Lockhart asked curiously.

Ericson nodded. "Oh yes, I know his father. In fact so do you. Remember your anti-submarine course at Whale Island? Now, who was Senior Instructor?"

Light dawned on Lockhart's face. "Oh yes, of course. You know, Sir, I'm quite amazed that I never made the connection before."

- X -

Sunset. Under a grey sky, grey waves danced around a grey ship. HMS _Leven_, a River-class frigate. One of a hundred and fifty-two of her class, churned out like cheap sausages as a war-expedient escort vessel, she was nevertheless a thoroughbred U-Boat hunter. 283 feet long and 1,800 tons, she carried two 4" quick-firing guns, ten 20 mm Oerlikon AA guns, a Hedgehog anti-submarine mortar and 150 depth charges. A crude radar showed her aircraft at fifty miles and surface contacts out to the horizon, and her ASDIC set - the best sonar set in the world - let her hunt submerged U-Boats. Her engines could drive her at 20 knots; on the surface a U-Boat could make 17.7 knots, submerged only 7.6. HMS _Leven_ was a killer. The Old Man reassured himself with that thought as the light seeped away. Around him, grey faded to black under a featureless, moonless sky. Darkness spread over the waves. Out of the deep, evil rose on silent currents.


	2. Chapter 2

"FOR HX204 CONTACT REPORTS SENT 1803 APX 05 AT 093 AND 1807 APX 09 AT 046 FROM YOUR 1630 LOCSTAT RECOMMEND REINFORCE REAR SCREEN VESSEL CLYDESPR SENDS NW"

"FOR CLYDESPR CANNOT REINFORCE REAR SCREEN REMAINING ESCORTS TOO SLOW TO REJOIN VIPEROUS SENDS"

The Old Man read the new signals in the dim glow of the hooded binnacle light and pencilled two crosses on the chart. Two more contact reports, showing a pair of U-Boats in a rough north-south line. They'd be on the surface now, running east at full speed to catch the convoy. With the merchantmen making a steady twelve knots it would take them over three hours to close in, and another hour or two to get into attack position, so the convoy would be in danger from about midnight. If HMS _Leven_, idling in the convoy's wake, could delay them for six hours then dawn would be approaching before they were in position and they'd have to break off or dive; dived, they would steadily fall behind and the convoy might lose them before night came again.

The Old Man made his decision. "Warm up the radar and stand by to activate. First Lieutenant to the bridge and get a can of cocoa or soup up here, too." The radar didn't have a long range but the sea state was quite good, a low rolling swell with no choppy seas or whitecaps, and they should be able to spot a surfaced U-Boat as much as ten miles away. Of course if these U-Boats were fitted with radar detectors they'd instantly pick up the searching beam, but that would force them to dive and that, too, would delay them. It was the best he could do. As _Viperous_ had told Clyde Approaches, both _Compass Rose_ and _Wallflower_ were too slow to rejoin the convoy if they came back to reinforce him; each hour they fell behind would take them three to catch up.

Stanbridge, the First Lieutenant, was on the bridge in less than three minutes. Buttoning his duffel coat as he leaned over the chart table, he listened carefully to the Old Man's instructions then nodded his understanding. "Very good, sir. I'll call you immediately we get a contact."

The Old Man nodded. "Thanks, Number One. Keep the ASDIC warmed up too; we'll need it in a hurry if we spot anything. And the Coxswain and Yeoman aren't to be woken except with my permission." The First Lieutenant acknowledged, and the Old Man crossed the bridge to his sea bunk, crawled under the filthy blanket and closed his eyes. Exhausted as he was, he was asleep in seconds. His body hunched against the cool September night and the constant light spray from the bows. In his dream he stepped from a small boat onto a wooded island, and he carried a laughing girl in a long white dress.

- X -

The Submarine Plotting Room was a storm of activity with, in the calm at its eye, the great Plot itself. Desks and map boards lined three walls and Wrens and Naval ratings bustled between them, handing over message slips and marking charts. Messengers flowed constantly in and out, telephones rang and the teleprinter in the corner chattered every couple of minutes. Every piece of information that was generated about the Atlantic - radio intercepts and direction finding, sighting reports from ships and aircraft, weather forecasts, even the hush-hush Ultra messages - was sucked into the Submarine Plotting Room, studied, evaluated, analyzed and finally slotted into the huge jigsaw that was the Plot. Forty feet long and twenty high, it covered an entire long wall of the room and showed the whole North Atlantic. Scattered across it were magnetic markers showing the location of every convoy and roving escort group at sea, and the estimated positions of the U-Boats. Every new piece of the jigsaw was finally approved by the Staff Officer Operations, written on a log slip and handed to a Wren, who'd roll her ladder into position, climb up and move a marker to its new location. Now she shifted one, marked HX-204, six inches to the east. Where it had been she placed a solitary metal stud holding a slip of paper on which one word was scrawled - _Leven_. An inch from it she added a black circle to the two that were already there.

The Staff Officer Operations scowled at the amended Plot, then picked up her pen and opened the signal message pad.

- X -

"FOR HX204 CONTACT REPORT SENT 1840 APX 2 AT 132 FROM YOUR 1800 LOCSTAT ADVISE NOW THREE CONFIRMED UBOAT CLOSING FROM ASTERN CLYDESPR SENDS NW"

Stanbridge digested the signal and marked the new contact on the chart. If the two previous contacts were overtaking the convoy on the surface that now made three in line abreast, spread out across about twelve miles. The southern two should be close to radar range by now. He glanced at the sleeping figure by the ASDIC hut, briefly considered waking him then decided against it. Let the Old Man sleep; he'd asked to be woken when they found something and they hadn't, yet. Stanbridge picked up his dividers and bent over the chart for a few seconds, then gave a quiet helm order and flipped open the bridge log. As he began noting the order _Leven_ increased speed from three to six knots and turned northwest.

He woke slowly, reluctantly. For a moment his exhausted body tried to drag him back down into sleep, but his mind wearily asserted itself and recognised the importance of the hand on his shoulder. He pulled the blanket off his face and propped himself up on one elbow. "What's up, Williams?"

"Radar contact, Sir."

The Old Man studied the chart. Radar had held the contact for five minutes before he'd been woken, long enough for Stanbridge to be sure that it wasn't a whale or a sudden swirl of turbulent water. It was running almost due east at a touch over 16 knots, it was seven miles northwest of them and it was small. Out here, that meant it was a U-Boat. "Well done, Number one. Coxswain and Flags to the bridge, get King on the ASDIC and make sure the set's warmed up. Pipe to quarters, all weapons closed up and have the four-inch loaded with starshell. Come round to 330 and ring for full ahead. This one doesn't know we're coming." They'd held the contact for five minutes, after all, and it hadn't dived. It had no radar detector. The first warning the U-Boat would have of _Leven_'s arrival would be the bursting starshell.

- X -

"FOR CLYDESPR HAVE PROB UBOAT ON RADAR 54 39N 29 42W AM ENGAGING LEVEN SENDS JW"

She scrawled the log slip and handed it to the Wren. The markers for the frigate and the U-Boat were moved to their new locations, a thousand miles away in the black Atlantic. Watching, she felt the familiar fear creep up on her.


	3. Chapter 3

They'd been running at full speed for ten minutes and the range to the U-Boat was down to three miles. The Old Man silently blessed his ship's old-fashioned reciprocating engines. The low-frequency thump they generated travelled for hundreds of miles through the ocean, but to a listening U-Boat hydrophone operator it could easily be confused with the endless pulse of the Atlantic's waves. The scream of turbines might only be audible to a surfaced submarine at three or four miles, but what it screamed was "warship!" HMS _Leven_ was well within gun range of the submarine now, but he wanted to get closer. His 4" mounts fired under local control only; they didn't have the elaborate computers and plotting tables of a big warship, or huge rangefinders mounted high on an armoured tower. A U-Boat was a small target, and if his guns missed he wanted to be close enough that when she dived he could pick her up on ASDIC and run down on her before she could evade. According to the book he was close enough now, but he no longer trusted the book. If he could get within two miles that ought to do it; even if the U-Boat dived _Leven_ would be over her last known position before she could hope to get out of ASDIC range from there.

A voice pipe demanded his attention. "Radar to bridge, first contact directly on the bow at 4,400 yards. Second contact Green Three-Fiver, range eight miles, probable U-Boat." The Old Man acknowledged and crossed quickly to the chart table. Right, the second U-Boat couldn't fail to hear the gunfire when _Leven_ began her attack. That would leave her with two choices; she could keep going on the surface, in which case he could hunt her by radar, or she could dive. If she dived she'd be able to get away before he could close on her, but by taking up station east of her last reported position he could use ASDIC to keep her away from the convoy. Submerged, she could never catch up; on the surface _Leven_'s radar would have her. If she tried to move east she'd eventually come within ASDIC range and he could attack with depth charges and the Hedgehog. That would keep two of the three U-Boats away from the convoy; _Viperous_ and the two corvettes should be able to handle the third.

He returned to his position at the front of the flying bridge and flipped open the voice pipe. "Bridge here; what's the range to the first target now?"

The reply was immediate. "Four thousand, Sir."

"Very well." Next he opened the pipe to the wheelhouse, immediately below him, flicking on the intercom to the 4" gun mounts at the same time. "Bridge here. Come round to new course zero degrees, maintain full ahead."

"Aye aye, Sir!"

The Old Man closed the pipe and pressed the button on the gunnery intercom. "Guns, bridge. A and Y guns, train to Red Three-Zero, on my command one round of starshell each at 4,000 yards then independent fire at identified targets." He waited for the acknowledgement as _Leven_ came round to due north. As soon as she had straightened up on her new course he pressed the button again and said one word. "Fire!"

He didn't even hear Y gun, the after mount; its report was drowned out by the crash of A gun, thirty feet in front of him on the shelter deck. He shook off the effect of the blast and raised his binoculars. Four seconds later and two miles off the port bow the starshells cracked apart and released their flares, bathing the sea in a harsh yellow glare. Pinned in the middle of the sudden light was a low black silhouette; the U-Boat. A moment later both guns fired again. Four seconds for flight, then this time two columns of water erupted near the distant submarine. Seconds counted now; she'd go down fast, probably within twenty seconds. There would only be three or four chances for each gun to score a hit. Yes, there she went…

The racing U-Boat's bows rose slightly on a swell, dipped into the trough and didn't come up again. A second later white foam exploded from the front of her conning tower as the sea rushed up the deck. Her gun disappeared below the surface as another pair of 4" HE shells bracketed her, the conning tower already half submerged. _Leven_'s guns fired again, Y slightly ahead of A this time. Water spurted skyward in front of the U-Boat, then the white pillar broke apart and fell back, obscuring her for a moment. When it was gone there was only a swirl of water on the surface. She was down. Seconds later two more shells splashed uselessly into the ocean.

The Old Man ordered _Leven_ back to 330 degrees - directly towards where the U-Boat had dived - and waited as the minutes ticked away. The ASDIC set had a range of about 2,000 yards and it would take the U-Boat nearly eight minutes to get that far from her last known location. _Leven_ would be there in five and a half.

In the event, it was less than two and a half minutes before the voice pipe from the ASDIC hut came to life. "ASDIC to bridge, strong contact dead ahead, range 2,000." The Old Man frowned. That was right where she'd gone down. He wondered about the salvo that had landed just before she vanished. He'd seen only one splash; could the other have scored a hit?

"ASDIC to bridge, contact dead ahead, range 1,000." No, she wasn't moving. Well, if she was going to move she had about a minute left to do it in. He switched the intercom to the torpedo officer's position aft and ordered him to stand by to fire the Hedgehog and depth charges at ASDIC's direction. With the water foaming under her bows HMS _Leven_ ran down on the stationary U-Boat. The bridge searchlights came on, their beams illuminating the patch of water over the contact. Seconds passed as ASDIC read off the falling range. When it reached 250 yards the Hedgehog fired with a series of thuds, and 24 bombs arced forward and splashed down around the contact. Seconds later two eerie green flashes lit the black ocean. Hits! Two hits! That should be enough to disable a submarine. Then ASDIC called "Lost contact" and they were over the patch of disturbed water. Two depth charges rolled off the stern rails, the throwers that lined the afterdeck coughed out a fan of four more on each side of the ship and, a moment later, a final pair dropped from the rails. The U-Boat was now surrounded by a rough circle of twelve sinking charges, as _Leven_ raced away from the imminent blast.

The sea jumped behind them, flaring green and shuddering violently as the charges went off, then a massive area erupted skywards in white foam. By the time it crashed down again _Leven_ was 400 yards away in a hard turn, with her searchlights swinging to track the blast site and her captain intent on dropping another pattern of charges into the chaos. It would be a quarter of an hour before ASDIC could pick an echo out of the roiling, bubble-filled water where the huge weapons had exploded, but that didn't matter; they would drop again, in the hope that the U-Boat was still there. At both ends of the ship torpedo ratings struggled to reload, hauling the great cylindrical depth charges on to the throwers and sliding more bombs over the array of rods that gave the Hedgehog its name. Half way through the turn, though, it was her guns that opened fire. First the Oerlikon on the port bridge wing, spraying a shower of empty brass cartridges onto the Old Man's mattress, then a second later every weapon that could bear blasted out.

Pinned in the glare of the two searchlights, the U-Boat's bows projected from the sea at an acute angle. 20mm tracers whipped the water around the black wedge into a froth and cracked against the tough hull, then came a bright flash as Y gun scored a direct hit. The U-Boat began to settle, her conning tower emerging from the water as her bows came down, but the Old Man was yelling at the helmsman to centre the wheel. _Leven_ straightened up and both her main guns could now fire over open sights at a stationary target barely a quarter of a mile away. Within ten seconds at least three more hits flared on the submarine, then her bows rose up once more and, with shocking speed, slid down into the sea.

- X -

FOR CLYDESPR UBOAT SUNK BY DC AND GUNFIRE AT 54 39N 29 42W RECOVERED 3 SURVIVORS BREAK SECOND UBOAT DETECTED BY RADAR AT 54 43N 29 39W BUT HAS NOW DIVED AM SEARCHING LEVEN SENDS JW

She sagged back in her chair, relief swamping her for the moment. The little warship had survived the first fight and reduced the odds against her by half; the third U-Boat was probably too far to the north for _Leven_ to intercept. She wrote another slip for the Wren then contemplated the red curves on the plot just east of the distant battle. That looping line marked the extreme range of the RAF Liberators. She wondered how she could arrange to get an aircraft over them at first light.

The SOO poured herself a cup of tea from the electric urn and watched as the plot was updated. _Leven_'s marker and one black circle moved, another black circle marked with a chalked white cross. In the Atlantic the frigate raced north towards a U-Boat that, dived and hunted, would be preparing to strike at its pursuer. A sudden desperate loneliness struck her in the warm and crowded Plotting Room. She sipped the hot tea and shivered.

**Author's Note - **I have found various contradictory sources on the names of the River-class frigate's gun mounts. A few call the 4" guns B and X, and assign A and Y to the Hedgehog launcher and depth charge rails instead. Some call them B and Y, classing the Hedgehog as a mount but not the depth charge array. I have chosen to go with the others, which call the guns A (furthest forward) and Y (furthest aft) and don't count the ASW weapons as gun mounts. If anyone has a definitive answer please let me know.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Two of the characters belong to Arthur Ransome. The crew of U-96 are a mixture of real individuals and the work of Lothar-Gunther Buchheim. All other characters are my own invention.**

It was just one of those things that happens out in a great ocean. The Atlantic swells were low and rolling, humping black and glistening across the surface. Somewhere to the north, though, a wind was driving its own waves before it. Cutting diagonally across the swells they were slowly robbed of their force until they faded away. Perhaps the water here was warmer, though, allowing both wave systems to rise just a bit higher. Perhaps the angle was just slightly different. Either way, along a strip of ocean a mile long and a hundred yards wide, the short steep seas were piling into the faces of the swells so both waves leapt high then collapsed in a swirl of breaking water. Eruptions of bubbles were driven yards below the surface with each burst, creating an opaque wall that scattered the ASDIC pulses into a hopeless mess of echoes. In the middle of it, motors barely turning, U-96 hung almost motionless.

In the submarine's cramped control room _Kapitänleutnant_ Heinreich Lehmann-Willenbrock squinted through the periscope eyepieces at the British warship. She was moving north at about six knots, obviously searching. The ping of her ASDIC rang through the hull, muffled and distorted by the surrounding turbulence, and her radar would be sweeping the surface above them. His hydrophones had picked up the sounds of U-133's destruction, and he'd immediately dived to periscope depth. Minutes later he'd spotted this patch of disturbed water and decided to hide under it, in the hope that the frigate would come close enough for an attack. Now she had. U-96 had only three torpedoes left and had been heading home after sinking a Norwegian freighter west of Sable Island over a week ago. She'd fallen in behind this convoy more in hope than expectation, but if he could sink one of the escorts it would make it easier for other boats later. All three fish were in the tubes and preheated for maximum speed, and the frigate was now less than 2,000 metres away. Deciding to attack on the surface, he gave a series of quick orders. The helmsman acknowledged, "Jawohl, Kaleu," while the Chief Engineer just smiled and nodded. The Kaleu unclipped a wooden box and took out a pair of heavy binoculars - a UDF. Slowly U-96's bows came round, propelled by her silent electric motors, and she rose. The periscope hissed down into its tube as the conning tower broke the surface. Deck barely awash in the troughs and with the wave crests still frothing across her bridge, she came to rest. A moment later her hatch swung open. Water cascaded over the men scrambling up the ladder.

XXX

"Radar to bridge. Faint contact bearing Red four-two at 2,100 yards."

The Old Man raised his binoculars and searched off the port bow. Nothing showed on the dark sea. He asked, "What's it look like, radar?"

"Hard to say, Sir. It just appeared and it's fading in and out. Very faint, and there's a lot of ghost echoes over that way. Might just be a wave system, Sir, or a chunk of wreckage."

"Bridge to ASDIC. Anything off the port bow?"

"Nothing, Sir. Just a lot of fuzz. Is there a squall or something there? The set's not picking up much."

He looked out over the ocean again. It was dark, but he should be able to see a squall. Nothing. Perhaps the sea was a bit rougher, but that was all. Then an image rose in his mind. The Pike Rock on a windy day with waves washing over its jagged tip. Sometimes visible, sometimes concealed. A danger lurking right at the surface. A danger that had sunk him once. What if there was another danger out there now, momentarily revealed by the wave troughs? Suddenly fully awake despite his exhaustion he flipped open the wheelhouse pipe. "Bridge. Full ahead emergency, hard a port, come to course 345." As HMS _Leven_ began to accelerate he pressed the button on the intercom. "A gun, stand by for starshell dead ahead, range 2,000. Flags! Take a signal."

XXX

FOR CLYDESPR PROBABLE UBOAT CLOSE ABOARD MY LOCSTAT 54 43N 29 39W AM ENGAGING LEVEN SENDS JW

XXX

Kaleu Lehmann-Willenbrock finished clamping the UDF onto the pedestal on the bridge, raised the sights mounted on top of it and flipped open the end caps. Crouching, he looked through the sights and turned the traversing screw. Nothing; the night was too dark to see the frigate unassisted. No problem. He pressed his eyes to the rubber cups of the binoculars and traversed the UDF slightly more. There she was! She was turning towards him and seemed to be picking up speed; no doubt her radar had seen something. Never mind. He flicked up the illumination lever beside the right eyepiece and a thin vertical wire lit up in the sight image. Another slight turn of the screw lined the wire square on the bows of the frigate; as the UDF turned a linkage in the pedestal sent the target bearing to an electromechanical computer in the conning tower below, which in turn fed it to the navigation gyros in the torpedoes.

The Kaleu waited a moment to check the bearing was steady, then leaned forward and flipped open the voice pipe. One last quick check then he shouted, "Rohr eins, los! Rohr zwei, los! Rohr drei, los!" U-96 shuddered slightly as compressed air blew the three torpedoes into the ocean; then their electric motors started, the gyros turned them towards the frigate and they accelerated to 30 knots. At almost the same instant a white flash lit up the approaching warship's foredeck. The starshell cracked overhead a second before the report of the gun reached them.

XXX

Pinned in the harsh light of the starshell, the U-Boat's conning tower showed clearly in his binoculars. She was almost awash, but even as he watched she was rising higher out of the water and beginning to move. Ant-like figures scrambled out of her fore hatch and swarmed over the deck gun. U-Boats almost never fought it out on the surface, but the Old Man had no time to wonder at it; there were almost certainly torpedoes in the water, heading right for his ship. He had two choices. Stay on course and present the smallest possible target to the incoming missiles, or make a sharp turn and try to get out of their path entirely. The decision was a quick one - stay on course. If the submarine had just fired there'd be plenty of time to manoeuvre clear, but if the torpedoes had been running for a minute already he'd be likely to catch one amidships. No, best to run right down on the enemy and try to ram. In front of him, A gun started pumping shells towards the U-Boat. A second later the 88mm deck gun began blasting back.

XXX

U-96 gained speed sluggishly at first, but as she moved out of the patch of disturbed water her pitching motion subsided and the screws bit harder into the water. On her bridge the Kaleu watched the approaching frigate. As soon as the starshell exploded he'd taken the decision to run in at high speed with his deck gun firing, then if his fish missed try to crash-dive and break away rapidly from close range. These new frigates carried ASDIC-controlled mortars and if he'd tried to dive from his torpedo firing position the British ship would have trapped him in the rough water and systematically pounded it with mortars and depth charges. This way was risky, but at least it offered a chance. The first shell from the frigate's gun erupted twenty metres off to port; seconds later the next one threw up spray twice as far away but dead ahead. The British gunners were good, but maybe not good enough to hit a small, fast-moving target like U-96. He doubted his own gun would do any better, but at least the crew felt like they were hitting back. It got some of them out on deck, as well, so if a British shell hit his boat they'd be spared death in the sinking hull.

XXX

The range to the U-Boat dropped rapidly as the two vessels charged in at a closing speed of over thirty knots. By the time _Leven_ had fired half a dozen times the submarine was less than 600 yards away, and his Oerlikons were firing at her from the bridge wings. The enemy's 88mm was blazing away at an amazing rate, shells screaming past _Leven_ and exploding in the water round her. Suddenly he became aware that her profile was changing; she was no longer bow on, but had turned slightly to port. Determined not to let her get away he warned the Hedgehog crew to stand by, then flipped open the wheelhouse voice pipe to order a course change.

Before he could speak the bridge flared brilliant white around him. Something smashed into his back with crushing force and he slammed against the rail, then bounced, falling helplessly to the deck. He lay on the torn surface for a moment, feeling hot fluid run down his face, then everything went black.

XXX

The Kaleu watched his gunners ram the waterproof tompion into the muzzle of the 88mm and pull on the breech cover, then run for the hatch. As the last man dropped down and pulled it closed behind him water was already surging up the foredeck. Lehman-Willenbrock took a last look at the frigate, veering off course with dying flames flickering above her bridge, then turned for the conning tower ladder. Ten seconds later U-96 slipped below the waves once more. Silently she headed south, breaking contact before surfacing and resuming her journey home.

XXX

FOR LEVEN CONFIRM OR DENY PRESENCE OF UBOAT AT 54 43N 29 39W CLYDESPR SENDS NW

FOR LEVEN ACKNOWLEDGE MY 0148 SIGNAL CLYDESPR SENDS NW

FOR LEVEN RADIO CHECK CLYDESPR SENDS NW

FOR LEVEN ACKNOWLEDGE PLEASE CLYDESPR SENDS NW

FOR HX204 LOST CONTACT WITH HMS LEVEN AS OF 0143 DO YOU HAVE CONTACT CLYDESPR SENDS

FOR CLYDESPR NEGATIVE RADIO CHECK WITH HMS LEVEN ASSUME LOST WILL SEARCH AT FIRST LIGHT SORRY VIPEROUS SENDS

XXX

The Liberator, weighted down with fuel and depth charges, staggered off the end of the runway at RAF Leuchars and clawed its way into the air. The driver of the crash truck watched in an agony of anticipation as the bomber's white belly seemed to skim the trees. Months before he'd seen an identical plane give up the struggle and sink back to earth. By the time they'd put the fires out nothing had been left of the bomber and her nine-man crew but four blackened engines. This one made it though. The wheels came up and, still fighting for altitude, the Liberator banked gently and headed west on its long flight across Scotland and out into the Atlantic. The driver stubbed out his Woodbine on the door of the truck and reached for the gearstick. His shift would be over in an hour, and his thoughts turned back to his wife and daughters in the little house in St Andrews.

XXX

The Staff Officer Operations put the phone down and turned to the waiting Wren. "Nutts Corner and Aldergrove are still closed by fog, but Leuchars have launched one Liberator. It should be there around first light."

She walked over to the urn and poured another cup of tea. It was only when the hot liquid overflowed the saucer and splashed on her stockings that she realised she'd been staring blankly at the wall. Her hand shook as she carefully placed the cup on the table then turned and walked out of the Submarine Plotting Room, out of the building and into the bleak Glasgow street. She faced the gusting wind with her back straight and her head held high. She'd go back inside in a moment. She had to. Just a moment more… most of the moisture on her face was rain.

**Author's Note:** U-96 is best known as the submarine in Lothar Gunther-Buchheim's novel Das Boot (in which she was called U-A) and the film based on it. She was a real boat; Gunther-Buchheim sailed on her seventh patrol as a war correspondent, and the characters in his novel were modelled on her crew. On 9 March 1942, on her eighth and last patrol under _Kaleu_ Lehmann-Willenbrock's command, she sank the Norwegian freighter _Tyr _55 miles west of Sable Island. Lehmann-Willenbrock surfaced, gave her crew (who had escaped in the lifeboats) the course for Sable Island, apologised for sinking their ship then turned for home. I have diverted his homeward journey slightly to the north to bring him into the path of HMS _Leven_.


	5. Chapter 5

He woke to the sound of screaming. His head hurt, though, and he decided to keep his eyes shut for a moment more. Why did his head hurt? He thought he remembered thunder. Could it be Peggy who was screaming? But wouldn't Nancy be talking to her, if it was? For a moment he half expected to hear that clear, jolly voice telling her sister not to be such a donk, or calling apologetically to him that she would be fine if it were guns. Oh, guns? Yes, it _had_ been guns. He remembered now; he was on the bridge of his ship, far out in the Atlantic. But why was Peggy on board? She'd wake Bridget if she kept screaming like that. Wait, was Bridgie here too?

No, none of them were here. The thunder had been guns - his own guns, and probably a hit from the U-Boat. Why was he lying down, though, and why was his face wet? His mind was starting to clear and it occurred to him that both of these facts might be connected with his sore head. He tried to open his eyes. The left one worked fine, showing him a pale fuzzy blob that might be a face, but the right seemed to be gummed shut. He rubbed it, smearing something sticky on his hand and cheek, and managed to get it open. Yes, the blob was less fuzzy now and it was definitely a face. It was a familiar one, too. Now who was it? Oh yes; Chief Petty Officer McCasgill, the Coxswain. He struggled up to one elbow, but the Coxswain caught him by one shoulder and eased him back down again.

"You just stay there a moment, Sir, until we get that head of yours looked at," he said, voice tight with pain. "The Gunnery Officer is taking care of the ship. He can manage for another few minutes."

The Old Man frowned. "Guns? What about the Jimmy?"

The coxswain shook his head. "Sorry Sir, he was caught by shrapnel. Probably saved your life though. He took most of the blast; you just got thrown against the bridge rail."

The Old Man looked around the bridge. It was a shambles. He could see at least three dead sprawled around the cramped space, and the view aft had changed somehow. Oh yes; there was a tangle of scorched, twisted wreckage where the radar had been. The mast looked wrong too. It leaned drunkenly to port and loose wires were slapping against it. He tried to push himself up once more, and this time managed it. That, he realised, was probably because the Coxswain was only using one hand; the other was tucked between a couple of the buttons on his duffel coat. "What's wrong with your arm, Cox?"

"Not rightly sure, Sir. Broken, maybe. Caught it a bit of a crack when the shell hit."

"Well get it seen to, man! I need you to help me get this mess sorted out, and you won't be much use with your arm like that." He knew McCasgill must be in agony, too; he remembered when Susan had had her arm broken, the year before the war. He'd only seen her after the event, when it was already in a cast, but even then any movement had left her face white with pain.

The Coxswain shrugged one shoulder. "I'll be fine for a bit, Sir. Now if you'll just let me…"

"Damn, you're as bad as my wife. When we were fourteen she managed to plan a winter expedition when she was supposed to be in bed with mumps. Now get that arm seen to, Cox, then get back up here. The Yeoman can look after the bridge hands until you… oh. How is he?"

"He might keep the leg, Sir. Depends on how bad the bone's smashed."

"Right. Now you get down to the sick bay and jump the queue as much as you can. Anything that's actually life-threatening takes priority, of course, but apart from that get a splint on as fast as possible and get back topside. I do need you, Cox, but I need you as fit as you can be."

Accepting the inevitable McCasgill stood up. "Aye aye, Sir." He limped to the bridge companionway and started to descend, awkwardly one-handed. The Old Man caught hold of a voice pipe and hauled himself wearily to his feet.

- X -

Stanbridge was dead. In dying he'd slammed into the Old Man and driven him against the bridge railing. That had bruised his ribs. The sore head came from an inch-long gash in his scalp, but most of the blood that had covered his face belonged to Stanbridge. Caught by the full blast of the shell that had hit the radar, Number One had almost been torn apart. One of the Oerlikon gunners had been decapitated and an ASDIC operator had been killed by something that had punched through the rear bulkhead of the ASDIC hut. A bridge lookout had a fractured skull; he was bleeding from the ears and probably wouldn't last until dawn. The Yeoman had multiple injuries although his leg didn't seem to be as bad as had first been thought, and another eight men from the bridge or foredeck had shrapnel or blast injuries to some extent.

As for HMS _Leven_ herself, the radar was a total loss. The 88mm shell had hit squarely on the Perspex cage that protected it, and exploded a fraction of a second later. The entire antenna was scrap. The fragment that entered the ASDIC hut had cut some wiring and started a fire, but that had been quickly extinguished and the set should be working again in less than an hour. The explosion had cracked the mast and torn away the HF radio antennas. In the hour since he'd regained consciousness he'd appointed the Gunnery Officer as acting first lieutenant then got to work bringing the ship back to the best fighting condition he could. Gun crews were redistributed to replace injured men and new lookouts were appointed. He set a course back towards the convoy; the final U-Boat had been too far north for them to find her without the radar. The Coxswain had been back on the bridge in twenty minutes, smelling faintly of rum but as competent as ever, and had managed to jury-rig some new shrouds to steady the mast. Now he and a Leading Telegraphist were trying to work out how to lash together at least one HF aerial so they could tell the world - or at least the part of it that didn't speak German - that they were mostly still alive. At Clyde SPR, the Old Man knew, that piece of information would be very welcome.

- X -

The young Wren walked nervously up to the desk. The SOO looked a mess, she thought. She was doing her best to appear composed, but her mouth was set in a grim line and red eyes stared blankly at the plot from her grey face. The Wren cleared her throat. "Uh, Ma'am?" Those tormented eyes turned towards her. "The bomber just passed Rockall, Ma'am. You asked to be informed."

The SOO nodded. "Thanks, Seymour. Is there anything else?"

"There's one other report, Ma'am. I don't know if it matters but escort group Topaz, west of Ireland, picked up a large aircraft on radar heading north-west about ten minutes ago. Its course would bring it close to HX204. They think it might have been a Condor."

The Focke-Wulf FW200 _Kondor_ was the German equivalent of the RAF's Liberators. Converted from a long-range airliner, its main job was to search the eastern Atlantic for convoys then call in U-Boats on their position. It could carry bombs, too, and was heavily armed with machineguns and 20mm cannon. They had often come in low to bomb and strafe isolated merchant ships, and even small escorts without enough ack-ack guns to drive the huge planes away. The SOO studied the plot for a moment, picked up her pen and scribbled on a message form, then handed it over. "Add that to the list, Seymour. Thanks for letting me know."

- X -

FOR LEVEN RADIO CHECK CLYDESPR SENDS NW

FOR LEVEN RADIO CHECK CLYDESPR SENDS NW

FOR HX204 POSSIBLE FW200 SIGHTED HEADING FOR YOUR AREA APPROX 0300 ETA APPROX 0430 CLYDESPR SENDS NW

FOR CLYDESPR ROGER AA GUNS CLOSING UP IN 60 BREAK YOU CAN LEAVE HMS LEVEN TO ME I WILL SEARCH AT FIRST LIGHT VIPEROUS SENDS

FOR LEVEN RADIO CHECK CLYDESPR SENDS NW


End file.
